


as the summer fades away

by nobirdstofly



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Drabble, Getting Together, M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 08:40:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20654342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nobirdstofly/pseuds/nobirdstofly
Summary: “Why aren’t you ready? Thought we were going to the beach.”“We are,” Jon says, resigned to Lovett being on time for once and his dick remaining unsucked.





	as the summer fades away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silklace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silklace/gifts).

> for prompt #34: “If you keep looking at me like that we won’t make it to a bed.”
> 
> huge thanks to Grace for the fastest beta read! title from Lana Del Rey's "Venice Bitch"

“Where’s Tommy?” Lovett asks, posted up at Jon’s kitchen island with a microwavable breakfast burrito he must have brought across the street. 

“Our for a, a run,” Jon says, praying Lovett doesn’t notice Tommy’s running shoes are still by the door. “How do you eat those?”

“Happily,” Lovett says, taking a huge bite with gusto. Pundit waits at his feet for the inevitable fall-out. “Why aren’t you ready? Thought we were going to the beach.”

“We are,” Jon says, resigned to Lovett being on time for once and his dick remaining unsucked. Jon’s phone lights up on the counter, and he grabs it before Lovett can get a good look.  
  
_Distract him so I can get the duck out of the coat closet_, Tommy’s sent. Followed by, _Duck_, which is in turn followed by, _Jesus you know what I mean_.

Jon stifles a laugh and types out a cheeky, _How did a duck get in my coat closet anyway?_  
  
When he looks up, Lovett’s eyes are narrowed. “I know that face,” he says, and Jon’s eyes widen against his will. What if he’s given himself away completely? What if Lovett knows the face he makes when he texts someone he’s — well, not _dating_, but kind of, sort of, could be dating? Maybe they are, and they’ve just had a decade plus of foreplay? Not foreplay, courting, Jon thinks, feeling his face going red.

“That’s your Tommy face,” Lovett continues, and Jon doesn’t know if that’s better or worse. “When’s he getting back? I wanna get coffee on the way.”

“Soon,” Jon says, typing out, _Sneak out and pretend you’re coming in the front, I told him you were on a run_. “Starbucks?” he asks, hoping that Lovett won’t hear the closet door if they’re talking.

“Well definitely not Dunkin,” Lovett says. “Maybe that new place on Beverly?”

On cue, the front door opens and closes, and Pundit and Leo race toward it. “Lovett here yet?” Tommy calls.

“Fuck you of course I am,” Lovett yells back. “I thought we were leaving at 10.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let me shower real quick and then we can go,” Tommy says, walking past the kitchen fast enough that Lovett can’t see how much he doesn’t look like he’s been running. Lovett apparently can see that Tommy’s shirtless, though, judging by the wolf whistle.

“I’m gonna go get, uh. Ready,” Jon says, edging out of the room.

“Is this what it’s like to be on time?” Lovett asks. “This is awful, remind me to never do this again.”

“I’m sure I won’t have to!” Jon calls over his shoulder as he chases after Tommy.

He turns the corner into his bedroom and runs right into him, all broad and bare-chested. Tommy catches him from falling, steadying him with both hands on his hips. Before Jon can say anything, like ask why the fuck Tommy was lurking in his bedroom doorway, Tommy’s mouth is on his, hot and hard. Possessive. Jon moans, gripping Tommy back, letting himself have this for a precious couple minutes before he rips himself away.

“We have to— to… beach… and Lovett.”  
  
“Wait, don’t tell me,” Tommy says, smirking. “Were you a...speechwriter or something?”  
  
Jon punches him in the arm. “Shut the fuck up and take another shower. Lovett’ll know if you don’t.”

“Wanna come?” Tommy asks, pushing down his underwear and wrapping a hand around his half-hard cock.

“You’re an asshole,” Jon says, averting his eyes. “Just for that, you’re driving.”  
  
Tommy, with the kind of self-assuredness and ease of someone who was allowed the time to jerk off after their makeout session in Jon’s foyer was interrupted, gets them safely to the coast with no further incident besides arguing about how often Lovett skips songs thirty seconds in.

“Just,” Tommy’s saying as Jon drags his eyes away from Twitter to look at the mountains that Lovett’s taking photos of in the front seat, “if you’re gonna let it play… _let it play_.” 

Lovett skips to the next song without saying a word, smirking over his shoulder at Jon in the back, and Tommy groans. Jon laughs, shoving his phone back in his pocket. He leans forward between them. “Are we there yet?” he asks, just to be obnoxious, and Lovett eagerly takes the bait. 

“Yeah, I don’t see the ocean yet, Tommy. Are you sure we went the right way? Jon, we never should have let him drive, he doesn’t even live in LA. How do we even know our dear Tommy knows which way west is? How dare you let him drive your car?”

“I will turn Jon’s car around,” Tommy says, laughter in his words.

When they break out of the mountains and finally get to the PCH, Tommy insists on rolling down the windows. The air is damp and salt-tinged, and Leo climbs up on Jon’s lap to nose at it, like he’s looking at miles of coastline, too. Jon smiles down at him, weaving his fingers through his fur, before he feels Lovett’s eyes on him. And the camera of Lovett’s phone.

“Don’t worry,” Lovett says, turning back to the front. “You look annoyingly good as always.” Jon feels his face heating up, and he laughs, determinedly staring out at the ocean and not trying to catch Tommy’s eye in the mirror as they drive north. 

It’s early enough that the beach isn’t crowded. They stake out a prime spot up from the break, spreading out a couple beach blankets that Jon’s parents bought him as a housewarming gift when he first came out to California. Lovett passes out beer from the cooler, and Jon gives up trying to get Lovett to keep the dogs on their leashes pretty early on, no matter how often he forlornly points to the sign.

Tommy breaks out the sunscreen, insisting the other two use it, and Jon sneaks a look at Lovett to make sure he’s distracted playing catch with Pundit and Leo before he offers to do Tommy’s back. Tommy peels off his shirt, and Jon does his best not to stare, spreading the lotion onto Tommy’s freckled skin. He hasn’t gotten to stare much, yet, especially in the sun. This is still so fresh it hurts a little, like a new bruise. Tender and soft, beginning with a kiss the last time Jon visited San Francisco, continuing with Tommy tumbling Jon into his bed for that whole weekend, and only a handful of touches between Jon’s flight back to LA and this morning, when Tommy had gotten on his knees next to Jon’s front door, peeled down Jon’s sweatpants, and looked up at him with a grin — right as Lovett commandeered the sound system to announce his arrival.

“Jon?” Tommy prompts, and Jon realizes he’s been absently feeling out the line of Tommy’s broad shoulders more than actually spreading any of the sunscreen. He clears his throat and gets to business. When he finally finishes, fingers skimming Tommy’s trunks, Tommy turns him around and gets his back, too, big hands hot in contrast to the cold lotion, stroking from the nape of his neck to the small of his back, and then up to the backs of his arms, down to the inside of his wrists. He squeezes one of Jon’s hands briefly and steps away. When Jon turns to look at him, he’s wearing a soft smile, squinting against the sun.

“You should put your sunglasses on,” Jon says, averting his eyes, glad for his own to hide behind.

  
  
“Hot dog?” Lovett asks, kicking sand onto Jon’s belly and waking him from the doze he’s been in and out of. He doesn’t even know what time it is, and he blinks his eyes open to squint against the sun, even through his glasses.

“What?”

“Do you want a hot dog?” Lovett hooks his thumb at the little building that sells food further up on the beach. “Or anything?” 

“Nah, I’m good. We’re getting tacos after, yeah?”

“For sure, but after’s not now.”

Jon waves him off. “No thanks, I’ll wait.”

Jon pushes himself up to drink his water, which is unpleasantly warm thanks to the sun. Tommy’s on his stomach beside him, on his elbows, book open. Jon realizes after a second that Tommy’s watching him, so when he sets the bottle back down, he lets himself fall back, his elbows digging into the sand below the blanket and propping up his body in what he hopes is an alluring way. “Book good?” he asks.

Tommy is flustered when he says, “Wha— yeah, it’s. It’s fine.”

Jon feels the smirk spread slow over his face, and Tommy whacks him with the book. “Asshole,” he says. “Wanna go in the water?”

Jon glances back at Lovett’s retreating form. “We could go to the bathrooms,” he offers instead, pushing his sunglasses up to raise his eyebrows at Tommy.

“Yeah, no thanks. I’d rather not get banned from Malibu.”

“Might be a great way to get more downloads,” Jon points out.

“Sure,” Tommy agrees easily, standing up and brushing the sand off him. “I’m going in.”

The current is strong, tugging at Jon as they go deeper. The waves aren’t bad right now at least, so they can paddle around without too much difficulty. Tommy keeps looking out at the buoys, like he wants to try to swim out that far. Jon hopes he doesn’t. There’s no way Jon can go that far and get back to shore.

Tommy walks over, the water lapping at his chest. Jon swallows at how the hair on his chest glints in the sun. He wants to touch him, he wants to so bad, out here in the sun. So he does, under the water, gripping Tommy’s hip when he gets close enough. Tommy’s eyebrows shoot up. “Here?"

Jon shrugs, looking back toward the beach. It’s hard to tell from here if Lovett’s back yet, which means it has to be hard for Lovett to tell where they are, too. “Why not?”

Tommy talks a step closer. “Alright,” he says, and reaches down, pushing up Jon’s swim trunks so he can grope at his cock in a single, quick motion.

“Fuck!” Jon tries to back away, but Tommy gets his own hand on Jon’s hip, pulling him back in, getting a real grip with his other hand as Jon gets hard despite himself. Tommy’s hand is big and warm and it always feels good like this.

“You started it,” Tommy says, like he’s a fucking kid. He’s pumping his fist so, so slow, but it’s not getting Jon any less riled up.

Jon wants to grind against his hip, wants to shove down his trunks and Tommy’s and get their cocks both in his hand, wants to drag Tommy to the bathrooms and taste the salt on his skin. “God, I wanna kiss you,” Jon says, which is not what he means to say at all.

Tommy smiles, wide and bright, thumbing at Jon’s hip with one hand as he draws the other away, pulling Jon’s trunks back down. “Later, okay? I still want to blow you, too.”

Jon nods, looking out over the horizon. “You go ahead, I’m gonna, uh. Hang out for a minute,” he says, and Tommy laughs, leaving him alone in the chill water.  
  
  


They’re all a little sunburned when Lovett calls it a day. (“Alright, Adonises, tacos await.”) Jon takes turns with Tommy in the outdoor shower, trying to get at least some of the salt off his skin and out of his hair. He watches the line to the bathroom instead of Tommy’s smooth, wet skin, holding his shorts and wishing he could change. He’s startled when Tommy claps him on the back.

“You’ll be fine,” Tommy says, then he sneaks his hand down and snaps the waistband of Jon’s trunks. Jon yelps. “Leave ‘em on, we’ve got enough towels for the seats.”

When they pile back into the car, dry towels spread out to protect the leather, Tommy claims the back seat, stretching out as much as the space allows him. Jon smiles at him as he leans his head against the window, the dogs sprawled on top of him.

“Good to go?” Lovett asks when he turns back around, a smirk at the corners of his mouth. He waits until they’ve been on the road for a little while before he says, “You know he’s moving to LA soon.”

Jon checks the rearview mirror, but Tommy’s out, as predicted. “Yeah, I know.”

“Soooo,” Lovett says, drawing out the word, “you can put your mopey face away.”

“I don’t have a—”

“Jon,” Lovett says, leveling him with a look that Jon gets the full brunt of thanks to being stopped in LA traffic. “Why’d you make him look for a house at all?”

Jon sighs, shifting his grip on the steering wheel. It’s Lovett, he should’ve known better than to think he didn’t know all Jon’s secrets. “It wasn’t my idea for him to—”

“You should talk to him,” Lovett says, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “You do you, and all that, but you should make sure he knows.”

Jon nods, keeping his eyes on the road. “I will.”

It’s a little while later when Lovett, after sneaking a look into the backseat to make sure Tommy’s still asleep, says, “You could’ve told me.”

“I know,” Jon says. “I know, I’m sorry. I should have.”

Lovett nods, once. “It’s alright, as long as you’re paying for tacos.”

“Just tacos?”

“And guac,” Lovett adds.

“And margs?” Jon asks slyly.

Lovett performatively shudders. “Fuck you. ‘Margs.’ You’re what’s wrong with this country.”

Jon’s feeling sleepy from the sun and the drive and the endless pull of the ocean by the time they get back to his house, only to turn around and walk to Lovett’s newfound favorite spot. They get seats at the bar and Lovett is complaining about how crunchy his hair is by the end of their first round. He doesn’t let up when Tommy points out he could’ve showered, too.

“I’m not at summer camp,” he says. “I’m not showering _outside_.” Then, when their server stops by. “Yeah, I think so, right?”

Tommy shrugs, cheeks hollowed out as he sucks the last of his margarita through a straw. Jon looks away, all his tiredness sloughing away in one fell swoop, replaced by a buzzing under his skin. His fingers itch to touch Tommy. “Sure,” he says, and hopes his voice sounds normal.

The drinks are very good, and the tacos are even better, but Jon’s never been so relieved to see someone ask for the check before than when Lovett does. He tries not to walk too fast on their way back, hating the half mile separating them from his house far more now then when he argued Lovett for its “LA walkability” earlier. Lovett comes in to collect his bag and Pundit, and Jon hope he’s not being too obvious in trying to herd him back out of the house. Tommy’s sitting at the kitchen island, and something about the set of his shoulders is making Jon crazy.

“We’re gonna have to come up with a code word,” Lovett says softly at the door, so only Jon can hear him.

“A code word?” 

“For when you want me to leave so you guys can,” Lovett raises his eyebrows lewdly, “you know, get busy.”

“Get busy,” Jon mutters with a groan.

Lovett shrugs. “Hanky panky, et cetera.”

“I hate you,” Jon lies, and Lovett mercifully pulls the door closed behind him. Tommy’s still sitting at the island, but he’s turned to face Jon. He looks tense, like he’s just as keyed up as Jon’s felt all day. It’s a relief, to feel like he’s not the only one. He nearly trips over his own feet trying to cross the room as fast as he can.

He’s not sure what his face is doing when Tommy says, low, “If you keep looking at me like that, we’re not gonna make it to the bed.”

“Great,” Jon breathes, leaning down to kiss him, moaning when Tommy’s hands close around his hips, moving him back a little so Tommy can stand. Jon has to tilt his head up, but he doesn’t stop the kiss, hands fisted in Tommy’s t-shirt.

Tommy pushes him back against the island, the edge of it digging into Jon’s back, and kisses him once, twice, three times, little closed-mouth pecks, before he pulls back to smile at him. “Be right back,” he says, like the utter dork he is, before he folds to his knees again, like he did that morning.

He doesn’t peel down Jon’s damp trunks, though, he gets his mouth on the inside of Jon’s thigh, searingly hot, dragging his lips up to where the fabric covers Jon’s skin, his hard cock. He sucks kisses onto Jon’s thighs through it, getting closer and closer to where Jon’s tenting out the swim shorts. Then he’s lapping at Jon’s erection through the fabric, sucking at the head where it’s trapped against Jon’s thigh.

Jon grips at the counter. It hurts, a little, the mesh lining rough against his skin, but Tommy’s hands are firm, keeping him in place, one on his hip, the other spread wide on his thigh. Tommy turns his head, running his cheek along Jon’s dick, looking up at him through his eyelashes, before he turns back to the task at hand and uses his teeth to scrape at Jon’s cockhead through the material. Jon shouts, bringing his hand up to stifle the sound too late.

Tommy pulls back and stands up, Jon meeting him halfway in a kiss, trying to shove Tommy’s shirt up. He tastes like seawater, tangy and salty, some of the ocean clinging to Jon’s skin even after he rinsed off. Tommy laughs. “Come on, let’s take a real shower. I’m gonna get dehydrated like this,” he jokes.

Jon’s shower is big enough that they can both soap up without knocking elbows too often, and he can feel Tommy’s eyes on him the whole time, so it’s not exactly a surprise when Tommy crowds him against the wall while he’s rinsing off. He kisses Jon’s temple, his cheek, his jaw, and gives in when Jon tips his chin up for a real kiss. “I wanna go down on you,” Tommy says against his lips.

“I know, you said,” Jon says. And then, in case there’s any doubt, “I want that, too. You should— you can… continue doing that.”

“No, I mean.” Tommy ducks his head, pressing his forehead to Jon’s shoulder so the words are a little muffled. “Can I, uh. Has anyone ever?” He slides his hand down Jon’s back to get a palmful of his ass.

Jon feels a shock of heat run through him. “Has anyone ever what?” he asks, even though he’s pretty sure he knows what Tommy means.

“Can I eat you out?” Tommy asks Jon’s chest, and Jon can see the blush high on his cheeks.

“Okay,” Jon says, clutching at Tommy’s shoulders.

Tommy turns him around so carefully, so gently, pressing him face first against the tile so he can brace himself there, pushing Jon’s legs apart as he gets on his knees again, big hands on Jon’s ass, spreading him open in a way that makes Jon want to run away and never move again. He drags his tongue up from just behind Jon’s balls in one, fluid motion, self-assured and perfect, and Jon cries out from the shock of it.

“Has anyone?” Tommy asks again, pulling back from where he’s licking over Jon’s hole. Jon can feel his breath, feel the _words_.

“N— no,” Jon gasps out, looking over his shoulder. Tommy’s hands look huge against the pale skin of his ass, going even whiter thanks to his strong grip. He’s relentless, going from little kitten licks, like he’s getting Jon used to it, getting Jon to relax, before he, _fuck_, gets his tongue inside him, holding Jon in place as he shakes and moans.

“That’s it,” Tommy says. “Is it alright if I— can I?”

“Anything,” Jon says, meaning it, even though he tenses up when one of Tommy’s spit-slick fingers joins his tongue.

“C’mon, let me in,” Tommy says, and Jon can’t help the way his hips jump. They haven’t done this yet, Jon’s _never_ done this. It’s not, not bad at all, it’s just. It’s a lot. He feels — so warm. Full and like he could take more. Take everything Tommy wants him to. Jon’s arms are slipping against the tile, and he can feel his knees trembling badly. He whines when Tommy pulls back. Tommy raises up to kiss him on the meat of his ass, his finger still tucked up inside. “Touch yourself for me.”

Jon’s reaching for his own cock before Tommy’s finished saying it, groaning as he finally gets a hand around it, hips stuttering, unsure if he wants to push forward into his fist or back into Tommy’s fucking mouth. “Not gonna last,” Jon warns, words slurred against the tile.

“Good,” Tommy says simply, and then he’s crooking his finger, or — or something, moving to rub against Jon in a way that makes his knees start to buckle. Jon yells when he comes, locking his legs so he doesn’t fall back onto Tommy, and he winces as Tommy quickly pulls his finger out so he can hold Jon up.

Jon’s not sure when Tommy stood up, but he’s kissing the back of Jon’s neck, his shoulders, murmuring, “That’s it,” over and over again. He kisses Jon’s cheek when he turns his head. “Good?”

“So good,” Jon agrees, letting himself rest against the wall, bracketed in by Tommy’s body and the warm steam from the shower spray. “My bed’s huge, you know.”

Tommy laughs. “I know, we’ll get there in a minute.”

“No, I mean. Well, yes, please, but I meant. The bed’s big, and the shower is, too. And there’s plenty of room for another desk in the office.”

Tommy stills. “Jon?”

“And you figured out that burner that never works for me on the stove,” Jon rushes to say. “We can get a coffee pot and everything, as long as I don’t have to touch it. Or one of the little plastic cup ones?”

Tommy kisses his cheek again. “Are you asking me to move in with you?”

Jon turns around, taking in Tommy’s pinked-up face and swollen lips, the carefully-contained spark of hope in his eyes. “Yeah,” Jon says. “Yeah, I think I am.”

Tommy kisses him so fast, so hard that Jon doesn’t have a chance to wonder if he should think it’s gross, moaning and reaching out for Tommy’s waist. He pants when Tommy pulls back, “Is that a, a yes?”

“Yes, you idiot,” Tommy says fondly, kissing him again.


End file.
